The Royal Baby
by CeliaEquus
Summary: John, the healer of Baker Village, is pregnant by his husband, the magician named Sherlock. With John's worries about bringing up a child on so little money, Sherlock turns to his family, the royal family, for help. Disclaimer: I don't own 'Sherlock', nor am I making any money from this. A fic in honour of the latest addition to the royal family of Great Britain!


"The Royal Baby"

Once upon a time, deep in the heart of Baker Village, beyond the kingdom of Holmes, there lived a healer and a vagrant magician. The healer was John, the Son of Wat, and the magician was named Sherlock. For a year they had lived together, when John took Sherlock in from the cold, and Sherlock repaid him with friendship and, eventually, love. Two months had passed since their marriage by the village priestess, Spirit Mother Hudson, and those months had been happy.

Now John sat at their small supping table, on a rickety wooden chair, his head in his hands. Sherlock carded his fingers through John's hair. It was coarse from the man clutching it in frustration. A small spike of pride ran through Sherlock's chest as he looked down at the tiny bump tenting John's tunic. He gently cupped the mound where his child was growing.

"How can you take this with such serenity?" John asked, voice muffled by his hands.

"I am filled with untold joy."

"You have spoken of your joy so many times that it will be an epic tale ere the child is born," John said waspishly. Sherlock's happiness did not diminish despite his husband's tone, and he ruffled the chaff-coloured hair.

"How can I not rejoice in our happy circumstances?"

"Harken to our surroundings, Sherlock!" John gestured around their plain, one-room cottage. They had alternated at first, one sleeping on the floor and one in the small bed, until an evening too cold to be spent apart. They had shared a bed since that night.

A table, two chairs, a bed, and a fireplace. There was also a cabinet for John's medicines, and a small set of shelves for Sherlock's few possessions. The sum total of the house's contents.

"We will obtain additional furniture," Sherlock said.

"It is not just _things_, Sherlock," John said, gazing up at his husband with pleading eyes. "A child requires nourishment, safety, space. I will not be able to tend patients with any illness, else it risks the baby's life."

"John…" Sherlock stroked his cheek. "We can do anything, as long as we are together. You married me without knowing my family's name, and you loved me without knowing my background. I never thought that such sentiment would lighten my heart, and yet you stoke the fire in my soul every day."

John blinked back tears. "What will we do?" he whispered. "This frightens me, Sherlock. I want this child, desperately. Made of our love, it can only be seen as a miracle. But… is there some other occupation you can…?" He sighed. "No, I cannot ask that of you."

Sherlock shook his head roughly. "You can ask anything you wish of me."

"Not something which will make you unhappy. It is simply that… your skills gain you some recompense, and yet I fear that it may not be enough. It is infrequent employment."

"You wish our child to have the best?" Sherlock asked, kneeling before his husband. "It can be done."

"The best is all that we can give our child," John said, squeezing Sherlock's hand. "If it is only love, and living meal to meal and day to day, that means little." He smiled. "You make me so happy. The pregnancy has addled my mind, that is all. Never change." He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "Never change."

Sherlock remained silent for some time. He had not considered the practicalities of raising a child, let alone a family. What if John was carrying two babies? What if another pregnancy followed swift on the heels of this one? His husband told the truth; they were not financially prepared to raise a family. Their resources were already stretched.

There was only one solution. And yet he hated to leave John at this critical time.

But it was better that than leave after the baby or babies arrived.

"I may have a plan," he said, pulling John's hands close. He kissed each knuckle, breathing in the mix of herbs and spices that John used in his healing elixirs. "I must leave for some time. I would take you with me, but the journey may be hazardous, and I would not risk you in this condition."

"Leave?" John asked breathlessly. "Sherlock—"

"I must visit my family." Sherlock gritted his teeth. "They live far from here."

"I thought you hated your family."

"But I love you, John. And I will love every one of our offspring."

"Oh, Sherlock…"

"If I am not back before the child is born, then some misfortune has befallen me."

"Then do not leave! We can wait until after the birth, and visit them together."

"No, John. I swear to you; I will return before our child is born, even if I must fight the Devil himself."

* * *

It took three months to reach Sherlock's childhood home. He had travelled on foot most of the journey, hastened with occasional assistance. Along the way, he performed his magical tricks, solving problems in return for food, shelter, and transport. He spent as little as possible, saving what he could were his family to send him away.

At the palace gates, he was met by a familiar face.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said, lifting back his hood. The Head Guard to the royal family rocked back, his eyes wide.

"Prince Sherlock," he murmured. "Is it you?"

"Do you not believe the evidence of your eyes? I hope you are not losing the few faculties you posses."

Lestrade snorted. "My eyes, and my ears, believe it. Welcome." His eyes swept over Sherlock from head to foot. "You have been living as a pauper?"

"I have travelled a great way," Sherlock said. "And yet I have indeed been living… such a life." He swallowed. John deserved so much more than their hut. "I require money."

"You have not returned to stay?"

Sherlock shuddered. "No, I have not. I am here because I have a family to consider."

Lestrade's gaze narrowed in on the strip of leather adorning Sherlock's heart finger. "I see. Come this way; I will accompany you."

He left another in charge, and Sherlock followed a step behind. It had been many years since he ran from his home and his responsibilities, wishing to experience real life, and determined not to live in his brother's shadow. As they walked through the halls, Sherlock noticed that little had changed, and he drew up beside Lestrade outside the throne room's doors, in a much calmer frame of mind.

"Do you wish me to stay?" Lestrade asked. He had been the one person Sherlock could tolerate before; that had not changed, either.

"Please," Sherlock said. His hands trembled but slightly as the guard pushed open the doors.

"Your majesties, Prince Mycroft," he said. "I present… Prince Sherlock."

* * *

Five months had passed since Sherlock's departure. John longed for his presence every day, and his touch every night. Spirit Mother Hudson had taken to visiting him, bringing his food, relaying medical problems and administering potions to the patients John could not visit. She was with him when they heard the sound of a horse in the distance, and two voices. There was a clatter of wheels and hooves, and the sound of a door opening. Spirit Mother Hudson looked out the window, leaving John reclining on the bed.

"Oh my!" she exclaimed. "Healer John, such a carriage you have never seen. It is as large as five – no, six! – bears, and it is drawn by four horses. And surely that is the royal insignia on the side?"

"Royalty?" John said, struggling to sit up. "Impossible. What would they have here? Surely there are healers at their disposal, or nearer to the palace."

She clapped a hand to her mouth, and stared at John with widened eyes. "I would swear that your husband is approaching, and yet…"

"Sherlock?" John swung his legs around, and the priestess was by his side in an instant, helping him stand. "You swear it?"

"And yet he is clean-shaven, and in fine clothes."

Before John could ask her to say more, the front door opened. There he was.

"Sherlock," John said. That was all he could say as his husband ran forward and embraced him. The large bump where their child grew was no obstacle as they kissed fiercely.

"Oh, John. I missed you so." Sherlock shook his head. "I'll not leave your side again."

"You must at some time."

John looked up at the man who had spoken. Surely he could not be the Crown Prince of Holmes? It was some time since he had last seen an image of any member of the royal family. Why, it must have been when Prince Sherlock had run a…

"Sherlock," he whispered, and he looked up at his husband. "How could I not know?"

"Most had given me up for dead," Sherlock said, cupping John's face. "Had I not left, I would never have met you. I do not regret a second of our relationship, whatever pain may have been caused."

"Would you like a cup of herbal brew?" Spirit Mother Hudson said, addressing the crown prince. He looked down his nose at her and shook his head.

"We are merely here to collect my brother's husband," Prince Mycroft said. "Prince Sherlock has agreed to return home, and return to his duties, in exchange for his husband and offspring to live in the castle with us. No more of this… tomfoolery."

"Tomfoolery?" Sherlock hissed, and he glared at his brother.

"Your magic tricks. They are not befitting a member of the royal family."

"Marriage is, however, and I have noticed that you are not yet even engaged, Mycroft."

"Marriage? To a commoner?" Prince Mycroft half-sneered at John. "If it were not for the queen's desire for grandchildren, we would have left you both here to starve." He glanced back to his brother. "However, I require someone to relieve me of certain duties. And it does little credit to our family to have you living thus." He indicated the room. "The coachman and footman shall pack for you. We depart the moment this… residence is cleared."

Then he turned on his heel and strode from the room. John tightened his arms around Sherlock's waist.

"I am glad you are home," he said softly. "You truly were forced to dance with the Devil."

"Anything to protect you," Sherlock said. "Do you forgive me for not revealing my parentage sooner?" He looked so anxious that John smiled.

"I can forgive you anything, even leaving me all this time," he said. "If it were not for Spirit Mother Hudson—"

"Yes, yes," Sherlock said, and he scowled as the two servants entered the room. "I wish we could stay here. This is where we met, and fell in love. It has been your home nearly ten years."

"We will create a new home," John said. He hummed against his husband's chest. "What was it you said? 'We can do anything, as long as we are together'. And yet… you hated your life. You are surrendering your freedom for me?"

Sherlock's heart swelled as he nuzzled John's cheek. "Only you see this side of me. Only you truly know me. You may not be permitted to perform your healing duties, as my consort. Surely that displeases you? John." He grabbed John's hands and held them to his chest. "If you do not wish this, I can find other employment. I only want your happiness."

John shook his head. "You are Sherlock, vagrant magician and prince of the royal family of Holmes. I am John, Son of Wat. We have always defied the expectations of others." He tilted his head up to whisper. "What makes your family believe they can rule us, simply because we live in their house?" He smiled wickedly, a look mirrored by his husband. "If we cannot make our own mischief, then we are not the men I thought us to be."

Sherlock chuckled. "The game is afoot, John."

And they lived happily ever after.

* * *

**This fic is in honour of the royal baby. Hence the title. Considering I may be coming down with the `flu, I'm relatively impressed that I was able to write this. Hurrah for me!**

**Please review. I hope the fairytale language wasn't too jarring.**


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